Sam and Dean
by ThatSupernaturalFangirl
Summary: Sam Winchester and Dean Travis attend the same school, most of the same classes, and pretty much spend every waking moment together. Sam gets bullied by the school's most popular jock, Reese. The only comfort he can find in his hectic life is in the arms of Dean. It turns out there are far worse issues than a few scrapes a bruises, however... EatingDisorder!Sam Abusive!Mum Bully!
1. Sam's Average Day

**A/N: Sam and Dean are the same age in this fic, and are not related. This story also contains romance between two males, so if you don't like it, don't read it. There is also a trigger warning if anyone here suffers from self harming, and can I also say that please try your best to avoid hurting yourself. I used to, but I've managed to mainly get over that now, and I hope you can find peace, too. Without further ado, here is the fic!**

Sam was running - for his life, it seemed - as fast as he could manage. The boys were gaining on him, and his legs were growing tired. He ducked into an alleyway a few blocks away from the school and prayed that they would run past.  
"Down here!" He heard one of them yell. It looked like his prayers were to no avail. The boy's shout was then seconded by the roaring of the rest of them and the pounding of ruthless footsteps on heard concrete. The same hard concrete which Sam suddenly found himself sprawled on, red liquid oozing from his head. He closed his eyes and waited for the beating to begin.  
"Sammy," Reese, the 'leader' of the group cooed. "Are you going to open your eyes for us?" Sam lay still, not daring to flinch when he felt Reese's presence next to him. He could hear the _click_ of his knees as he bent down so his face was level with Sam's. "Come on, Winchester. Just a peek." He felt Reese's hand grasp his face, and when he tried to pull away, another one of the boys whose name Sam didn't know, grabbed his head to hold him still. Sam had given in by now, and opened his eyes in panic. "That's good, Sam. Keep 'em open." He threatened.  
"Class starts in 10 minutes," One of the boys said. "We've gotta get going soon." Reese frowned and emitted a small growling sound as he stepped away from Sam.  
"Let him go," He ordered the guy who was holding his head like a vice. Sam was still on the floor, dazed, as they usually would have beaten the crap out of him by now. "We'll catch you after school, Winchester." He promised. Sam watched apprehensively as they walked away. He waited until he could just see five long figures at the end of the road, before standing up and dusting himself off. He shrugged his bag over his shoulder, and made his way towards his school.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean called, as he ran towards best friend. "I've been looking for you, dude. Where have you been?" He asked.  
"Just got lost on the way to school, that's all." He lied, shrugging.  
"Yeah, and I didn't get laid last night." He said, sarcastic. "What really happened?" He repeated, knowing when his Sammy had lied. They'd spent their every waking moment since the beginning of the year together, with only themselves to comfort one and other. _Of course Dean could tell, you idiot, _Sam thought. He took a new approach.  
"It doesn't matter, alright?" He sighed, and silently wished that Dean would just leave him alone. Sam didn't want Reese and co. to see that he was hanging round with him.  
"Wow, okay. Cool it, Sasquatch," Dean said, before nudging Sam on the arm with his own. The younger boy flinched, but Dean just passed it off as Sam liking his personal space. "Come on, you were late for first period, let's not make that happen with second, too." And with that, they set off. The walk through the halls was a lot more intimidating than it usually was today, because Sam couldn't help but look around for the guys who had threatened to beat him up after school. It turned out Sam was worrying over nothing, and they reached their lesson without any bother. Sam and Dean took their usual seats at the back of the class, next to each other. One thing Sam liked about this place was that the teachers generally liked him, because he was acing all his classes, and wasn't one of the noisy kids. This meant that they let him do pretty much whatever he wanted, and he'd never abused that fact. The only thing he'd ever requested was that him and Dean could sit by each other in every lesson they had together. Mr. Austin walked in, the door banging shut behind him.

"Good morning everyone. Get your books and equipment out, and I'll be around shortly to check that you have everything that you need. I'd also advise that if you do not have the required equipment, that you ask one of your friends nicely if they have any spare which they could lend to you. Otherwise, you'll be spending ten minutes of your lunch with me," He smiled. Sam loved Mr. Austin. He was their English teacher, and he was one of those amazing teachers with a dry sense of humour, who was good to the sensible kids, and despised the loud ones.  
"Shit," Dean mumbled. Sam turned sideways to discover him searching frantically through his bag.  
"Forget something?" He laughed, getting out his things.  
"As a matter of fact, I have. You wouldn't happen to-" Sam cut him off by throwing Dean's pencil case at him. "Thanks, man," Dean smiled. He had two pencil cases, one that he kept at home, and one that stayed at Sam's. Sam always brought his things with him, so he also came to school with Dean's second case every day. It had kind of become a tradition for them, when Sam had gotten fed up of having to wait for Dean after class every period so he could do his detention and then they could go do whatever they were going to do together. After Mr. Austin had completed his circuit around the classroom, and five kids were doomed to detention, the lesson began. As it was near the beginning of the year, they were starting by reading Of Mice and Men, which Sam had already read, being the nerd he is. He didn't really pay much attention during the lesson, and just doodled in his notebook. He wasn't even concentrating on what he drew, either. At the end of the lesson, him and Dean gathered up their things and strolled out of the lesson. "So, what was that about?" Dean asked.  
"What was what about?" Sam replied.  
"You know what, Sammy. Not concentrating in lesson, which, by the way, was on a book you _adore. _And you were doodling through the whole thing. In the whole year and a bit I've known you, you've never done that. So explain." He demanded.  
"You know what, Dean? I'm just tired." He snapped. Before Dean had the chance to say anything back, he continued. "I'm tired of the same shit every day, I'm tired of being beaten up, I'm tired of pretty much everything." Dean stood, mouth gaping, taken aback by Sam's admittance. He knew that he used to get picked on a lot by the boys in their year, but Sam had told him that all that had stopped. _I guess he lied, _Dean thought.  
"Sammy," Dean whispered, but Sam was already walking away. He was in no mood to talk about his feelings, and they didn't have the next class together, so there was no point sticking around.

The next hour went by in a blur. Sitting through an hour of maths was an easier task than usual, with the dread of being confronted by Dean awaiting him. He wanted to stay in the classroom forever, and not have to explain himself to Dean, or face the bullies. But the bell rang all too quickly, and he was waiting for Dean to come by his class and go to lunch with him. After ten minutes of waiting, Sam decided to walk up to his class, and see if he had detention with Mr. Finch. That would be strange, though, considering he was practically Mr. Finch's star pupil, having an outstanding ability in mathematics. When Sam reached the classroom, there was no one there. _Where could Dean possibly have gotten to?_ He thought. Sam walked to the cafeteria alone, and bought a bottle of water. He moved his way through the crowd of teenagers to go and sit in his and Dean's usual spot, outside underneath the bleachers. It was a pretty secluded area, for a high school, and that was why they liked it. Sam had difficulties being around a large number of people at one given time, and Dean, being the understanding person he was, had put Sammy before himself. Dean hadn't liked the idea at first, because there were next to no instances when he'd be able to chat up the girls. Throughout last year, though, he'd grown accustomed to the lonely area, and had begun to enjoy it too. Sam didn't know whether it was because they could spend time together, or because Dean had never really encountered such serenity before. It was a strange thing to say about high school bleachers, but it was true. Where they lived, there was constant noise and ruckus, but breaks and lunches - and sometimes weekends if Dean could manage to pick the locks - were their times when they could just relax and feel a little separate from the world. At the moment, it looked like it was just going to be Sam doing that this lunchtime. It had only happened twice before, when the headteacher had busted him for using his cell phone in class, and when he was making out with Jackie Pullman in the janitor's closet. It seemed unlikely that either would be the reason why Dean was missing though. At the end of lunch, Sam put his water bottle in the bin, and walked to his third-to-last lesson.


	2. Sam's House (Home Requires Love)

When Sam walked into the classroom, he found it empty of one particular boy, who was called Dean Travis. Sam was angry by now, infuriated that his best friend had just bunked class without telling him first, or asking if he wanted to go with. He shook his head as he plopped down in his chair and wrestled his Physics book out of his crammed backpack. Ten minutes later, the room was flooded with teenagers, and the lesson was beginning. That was when he remembered that he had class with Reese Weatherspoon, his tormentor. _Great, _Sam thought, _the one day when I need Dean the most, he has to run off. Brilliant. _Sam felt a tap on his shoulder, when Lara, the class' "Goth Girl" who Sam actually thought was quite nice, handed him a note.

_You scared yet, Winchester? I've noticed Travis has ran off. How peculiar._

Well that struck an end to Sam's pondering where Dean was at. _Reese has done something to him. _He thought, the hairs on his neck pricking as he caught a shiver. _I am in _such _deep shit when I see him again.  
"_What have you done to him?" Sam gritted out. Reese chuckled.  
"Relax, Winchester. We're not stupid, we're not gonna take on Dean Travis just because we have some beef with his best buddy here. We've sent him on a little, ah, let's say...fun break. You'll find out all about it later. But for now, just watch your own back, see-"  
"WEATHERSPOON! SHUT YOUR FACE AND LOOK TOWARDS THE FRONT!" Mr. Walker screamed when he noticed Reese's attention had differed from the board.  
"You'll pay for that," Reese muttered as he shifted in his seat.

Two hours, and two classes later, Sam was walking cautiously out of Bio lab. Dean was still gone, and ahead of him faced the near-impossible task of avoiding Reese and co. on the way home. As Sam shuffled across the loose paving of the front of his school's car park sidewalk, he tried to come up with a plan. There was no sign of the group yet, and if he ran home there was a 50/50 chance of them a) missing him completely, which was what he dearly hoped for, and b) seeing him running, and beginning to chase after him. He made the decision to run anyway, and after five minutes, he could feel his feet throbbing with the force of the impact upon hard ground. It looked like he'd managed to avoid them. He knew that it would mean harsher punishment tomorrow, but he frankly didn't care at the moment. He was pissed at Dean for leaving with their "diversion", and he was going to find him. He was nearing the road which held his house on now, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. He clutched at his pocket and reached for his phone, and flipped it open, ready to dial Dean's number. _Actually, if Dean wants me, he ring himself, _Sam thought. He forced his phone shut, and was satisfied when he heard the _crack_ the screen made when it collided with the keypad. He was so angry, and he just wanted to take it out on something. Stopping in his tracks, Sam took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He walked towards his house and put the key in the door.

Sam's house wasn't much, and he hated it, but he was going to get out one day. He and Dean had made plans. Well, that was if Dean was going to follow through on his half, of course.

He opened the door, and the familiar smell of smoke and whiskey hit the back of his nose. The smoke smelled stale, which meant that his mother must not be in. Running up the stairs, Sam chucked his bag at the foot of the first step. Upon opening his door, he found his room in a complete and utter mess. It looked as if a heard of Elephants had decided to rampage through it. Sighing, he went to sit on his bed. Putting his head in his hands he started to think over everything that had happened today. Thoughts of Dean and his mother flashed through his head, and he felt anger once again bubbling in his chest. He needed something to stop him being so angry all the time. _Fuck it, _he thought. He hoped that during what looked like his mother's search for money she hadn't taken the sheets off his mattress. He'd gotten used to her rummaging through his things and even underneath his bed, so instead of hiding things there, he'd started to put them in between the sheets and mattress. Once he'd removed the sheet, he was happy, yet oddly disappointed to discover that his familiar blade lay on the soft material. His breath had become shaky as he grasped the knife with one hand, and balled his other into a fist. With his sleeve rolled up, and blade against his skin, he dragged. He dragged over and over, until he was satisfied with the white hot pain searing through his arm. He dropped the hard metal onto the wooden floor, running to the bathroom. He made sure that all the blood dripped into the sink before it had chance to stain the floor. Explaining that to his mother would be somewhat of a feat. After washing off his arm and taping some toilet roll to his arm (he couldn't afford to go out and buy proper bandages), he walked back into his room and threw himself onto his bed. Utterly exhausted from the amount of emotions that had been racking through his head, he pulled his duvet over his midsection and tried to sleep.

After half an hour of lying with his eyes closed, he sat up and ran one of his hands through his hair. It was normal for him to struggle sleeping these days, though he didn't understand why. There was an hour left until his mother got home from work, and he decided to make the most of it. He went downstairs and turned on their old as-deep-as-it-is-wide television, and flicked to the music channel. In the midst of enjoying the rhythms of the music, the recognisable sound of _Thunderstruck_ by AC DC started blasting through his phone. Pulling his cell out of his jean pocket, he saw that it was Dean calling. He contemplated whether or not to answer, and after a couple of seconds he flipped his phone open.  
"What?" He asked, clearly annoyed.  
"Whoa, who got your knickers in a twist?" Dean laughed down the line.  
"Where were you today?"  
"That's what I was calling about. Meet me at the park at six. We've got a discussion that needs to be had." He said, not waiting for Sam's response. The line went dead. Sam shook his head, irked that Dean had the nerve to just hang up like that. He thought about whether to just leave Dean in the park, waiting for him. But Sam wasn't that mean. Pounding up the stairs, he grabbed his shoes from underneath his bed and stuffed his feet into them before running back down and out the door, making sure to lock it behind himself.


	3. Sam's Repressed Emotions

The walk to the park seemed to take longer than usual, with the cold night air whipping Sam's hair into his face. He reached into his pocket and grappled for his cell. There were still fifteen minutes left until he had to meet Dean here, and knowing him, he'd be bang on time; not a minute late, nor early. When he finally reached the small grassy area, he sat down on one of the benches and bounced his leg up and down - a habit he'd developed at a young age, to soothe him when he became nervous. Ten minutes later Sam was thinking about just backing out and walking home, too afraid of what Dean would have to say to him. With his extremely sexual attitude and nonchalant mannerisms, people wouldn't think he was the type to be as intelligent as he was. Truth was, he was probably cleverer than Sam, and just had difficulty applying himself in school. With an IQ of 140, Sam was positive that Dean would have figured out why Reese's friend had gone off with him by now. He just didn't want to face the questioning that would follow. Sam had obviously taken too long to think through everything, and even if he was going to leave, he couldn't. At the entrance to the park, there was a tall, black-clad figure ambling towards him. _Dean._

Sam's chest began to rise and fall in quick motions, seeming to increase the nearer Dean got to him. When he reached about three feet away, he felt he couldn't handle it much longer. That was until Dean sat down next to him. The warmth of Dean's leg pressed up against him, and he started to relax as the heat seeped through the denim of his best friend's jeans and into his. He didn't want to think about it, but Sam knew there was something about having Dean so close to him that made him instantly feel comforted. He supposed that's what family was like, not that he'd be one to know. Except he knew that the feeling he had trapped deep inside of him was not one of brotherly affection, and that he longed for more than just the touch of Dean's leg against his. But he would never mention this to Dean. He was basically the poster boy for heterosexual-ism.  
"Hey, Sammy." Sam stayed silent. Dean waved his hand in front of Sam's face. "Sammy?"  
"Hi, D."  
"So. About today-"  
"There's nothing to be said," Sam replied coldly. "You left me to go off with some girl. That's it."  
"Hey, hey, Sam. I know that leaving you and school was wrong, but let me explain, okay? All I'm asking is for you to hear me out," Dean said, exasperated. Sam nodded reluctantly. "Okay. Thank you. So, basically, I'd just finished maths, when Jenny Carter came up to me and said she'd had car trouble. Knowing I have the Impala, she asked me for some advice. I went to see what the problem was and it turns out that part of the engine was broken, and she'd need to go to the parts shop. Being the dumb blonde she is, I needed to drive her there because she couldn't find her own way," He took a breath. "So there you have it."  
"You didn't leave me to hook up with her?" Sam asked, bewildered.  
"No, no! Of course not, Sammy. Why would you say that?" Was Dean's response.  
"Well, you know..." He shifted awkwardly on the cold park bench. "She does have, like, a _huge_ crush on you. And Reese said you'd gone on some sort of fun trip, so you can only imagine what came into my head." He admitted. Dean chuckled.  
"I know you like to think about me bearing all and doing naughty things, but I'm not that type of guy anymore." _Not that type of guy anymore?_ Sam wondered. Did that mean Dean was done hooking up with girls during school? Or does he just mean leaving Sam for girls, which he though Dean had stopped a while back? Maybe it was something else, something Sam hoped for on a regular basis. He couldn't be sure, though, so he didn't ask Dean what he meant.  
"Whatever, man." He shoved Dean playfully. "My mum's not home, wanna come round?" He suggested hopefully.  
"Sure, Sammy. What's with the sudden change of heart?" He asked cheekily.  
"Oh trust me, you're not forgiven," He winked, which told Dean otherwise, "but seems how I haven't seen you all that much today because you upped and left me, we'd better make up some lost time," He finished, standing up and brushing off the back of his jeans. "You coming?"


	4. Sam's Eating Habits

When Sam and Dean reached his house, Sam shoved the door open. Nothing had changed since the last time they had both been in the house together, but it hadn't been that long of a time anyway. With the near-constant absence of his mother, Dean had been round to Sam's house a lot, to keep him company. He watched as Dean threw himself onto Sam's ancient sofa. The younger didn't mind though, the couch was already wrecked with the years of Sam being thrown onto it by him mum, and her late night drinking episodes, so she wouldn't notice if one of the springs accidentally broke.  
"What do you want to drink?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.  
"One from The Stash, please."  
'The Stash' was a six pack Dean had brought around a couple months ago. His dad wouldn't allow him to drink beer in their house, but he'd found a way around it by bringing his beer to Sam's. It was hidden in his room, of course. He couldn't let his mum have access to it, she'd drink it all. Sam raced up the stairs to dig out the box of drinks, and grabbed two out of it. He ran down the stairs just as fast as he'd come up, and passed Dean his beverage before settling himself next to him on the couch. It wasn't unusual for the pair to sit close to each other, they were the only people they could both find comfort in. After taking a sip from his beer, Sam placed it on the coffee table and snuggled up closer to Dean.  
"I don't mean to pry or anything, but I'm pretty sure my excavation wasn't the only reason you were so wound up before. Care to explain?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.  
"It was nothing, just Reese and them. They said something about getting me after school, but I ran home." Sam stopped when he saw Dean's face scrunch up into one of anger. "Don't worry, though."  
"Of course I'm gonna worry, Sammy," Dean said. "How long's this been going on?" Sam shuffled timidly in his seat. "Sammy?"  
"Relax, Dean. It was probably just a one off," He replied, taking another swig from the glass bottle. As he looked at Dean, he could tell he thought otherwise. However, Sam also knew that Dean understood he didn't want to talk about it, so he dropped the matter for the time being. He watched as Dean drank from his beer, then wrapped his long, strong arm around his friend's shoulder.  
"Well, if you want to talk..." He left the statement open for Sam to complete.  
"I know," He answered, shooting Dean a grateful glance. He put his head on Dean's chest and passed him the TV remote off the abused coffee table. There weren't many shows Sam had a taste for, and besides, Dean was his guest. They ended up watching some documentary about middle-aged, beer-bellied men who fixed cars for a living. _Trust Dean to pick that, _Sam thought. He didn't particularly mind though, he wasn't paying attention. Their time together was spent relishing in each other's company. They both knew they were slightly more than friends, but they just shrugged it off. One of the main reasons being that neither of them could fathom the courage to discuss it.

After two hours of lounging on the couch, the boys started to feel hungry.  
"Wanna come for dinner?" Dean suggested.  
"No, I'm fine," came Sam's reply. He'd feel guilty if Dean paid for his food, which he knew is what the boy was hinting at. On the contrary, his stomach started telling them both otherwise by deciding to choose that very moment to make a loud rumbling sound. Dean chuckled lightly  
"Come on," he said. Putting his hand out for Sam, Dean stood up. He grabbed his friend's extended limb and pulled himself up, the springs in the couch protesting as he did so.

It was a long walk to their local diner, but neither of the pair minded. It gave them both an opportunity to exercise - especially Dean- in preparation for the amount of calories they were setting off to consume. The manager, Ellen, knew both of the young men. They were regular customers at her old, run down diner. Even though they'd only known each other for a year, they still came to this diner about three times a week. Sitting down at their usual table next to the window, they took a menu each from the card holder located in the centre of the table. They scanned through it, ghosting their eyes over the array of different foods, as if they were going to order anything other that Sam's girly salad and Dean's greasy, heart attack inducing cheeseburger. Just as they had set their menus down, Ellen's daughter, Jo, came to take their orders.  
"Good evening, boys. What can I get you two?" She asked with a friendly smile.  
"Same as ever, beautiful," Dean winked. Jo rolled her eyes as she clipped him lightly over the head with the clipboard she carried around.  
"Behave, Dean-o," She tried to say in a stern voice, but she couldn't help but laugh at her friend's flirting. "Alright, you two. Behave while you wait, and maybe you'll get an ice-cream on the house." At that, Dean perked up even more than he had since Sam's house. Sam held back a giggle at his friend's enthusiasm, getting a dirty look from Dean.

In only a couple of minutes, Jo was back, trying to juggle a two plates and sodas at the same time. She placed them down on the table with a smile of accomplishment.  
"Here you go boys, enjoy!" She smiled, looking at them both and walking away to go and assist her mum in preparing food for other customers. No words were spoken as both boys grabbed a pair of knives and forks, digging into the food their stomachs so desperately needed after a long day at school. Sam felt a tad uneasy, as he was eating in front of a diner with a couple of people in it. But the fact that he'd only drank water today comforted him, and he relaxed, chomping on some lettuce. Dean lifted the burger he'd ordered up to his mouth, and took a big bite, getting ketchup on his chin. Sam would have laughed at this when his first met him, but he'd grown accustomed to Dean's messy eating habits, and instead chose to ignore it until they had both finished eating their food.

When both of them were full, they were about to stand up, when Jo came rushing in with their deserts.  
"Ah-ah! Sit down you two, still gotta eat these," she announced, setting in front of them two chocolate ice-cream sundaes. Sam nearly vomited just looking at them.  
"Woah, Jo, you didn't need to," Sam insisted, but she just shook her head.  
"Nonsense, you do know what today is, right?" Jo queried, looking at them.  
"Uh...no. Happy birthday?" Dean guessed, earning a chuckle from the waitress.  
"No, idiot. It the one year anniversary of when you two started becoming this diner's main source of income," she smiled. "The least we could do is give you both a little gift, so, thank you. From my mum as well."  
"Well, thanks, too, Jo. I mean it," Dean smiled up at her, Sam seconding him. She gave them both a final smile before going back into the kitchen area. Dean grabbed a two spoons from the cutlery holder, and passed one to Sam, grinning. Three minutes later, and Dean had finished every last bit of his, and three quarters of Sam's. Sam tried to eat some, but all of a sudden a wave of nausea came over him.  
"Be right back, bathroom." He said to Dean, standing up out of the spongy wooden chair. He walked over to the block of toilets, and started throwing up. It felt disgusting, knowing that he'd let himself eat all that food. _Fat, _he thought. _Fat fat fat fat fat. _The word was repeating itself over and over in his head, in time with his retches. Once his stomach felt as it did before - empty - he stood up from kneeling around the toilet, and went to the sinks to wash his hands and rinse his mouth out, trying to rid himself of the taste of the salad. There were no paper towels, so Sam wiped his hands over his jeans, and stumbled back out of the block. Sitting down with Dean, he told him he was full and that he could finish the rest of his ice-cream if he wanted. There was no objection.

That night, Dean stayed at Sam's. His mum hadn't been home from the pub yet, so Sam had said she wouldn't notice if they stayed in him room. So that's what they did. First though, they walked to Dean's dad's house to pick up his laptop and his car. The beautiful vehicle used to belong to John , but his new job required him to have a company, so instead of getting rid of the Impala, Dean's dad had taught him to drive and given it to his son. They picked a horror movie from Dean's small shelf of DVDs, and put it into the back of the car, alongside his laptop. Dean drove them back to Sam's house and they ran up the stairs, flopping onto the bed. The movie they'd chosen was the remake of _My Bloody Valentine, _one of Dean's favourites. Sam didn't understand why though, as he thought the crazy miner man was terrifying. While Dean watched the film, Sam spent most of it curled into his side, peering out every so often. He quite enjoyed the warmth that was radiating from his friend's body, and tried to get as close to him as he could in the cold evening. He could feel sleep claiming him, and before long, he was drifting off to sleep. Not sure whether he was dreaming or not, Sam thought he felt the soft press of Dean's full lips on his forehead._  
_


End file.
